


Full Dark, No Stars

by Shalandrassil (Mothervvoid)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Battle for Azeroth, Canon-Typical Violence, Darkshore, Elune ex Machina, Elune’s Divine Intervention, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, On Hiatus, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothervvoid/pseuds/Shalandrassil
Summary: “I heard the news todayThat you're not mine to keepDon't struggle too much nowWhile I kill you in your sleep”- It’s Only, ODESZA
Relationships: oc x canon - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Full Dark, No Stars

All is quiet at Ashwood Depot. Sister Marlowe sits on an oil barrel that she isn’t quite sure whether or not is empty, but whether it is a hazard to her health is no longer a concern. She slouches forward, hands in her lap as she watches the goblins mill about, tending to their various contraptions that relied not on mana and arcana, but on oil and coal. It fascinated her, just what they could accomplish. Entire machines, without a drop of magic.

She let out an audible sigh, which was a task for a Forsaken, for most of them no longer needed to draw breath. Many did it on impulse, like she did, but she didn’t have to. 

She wished something would happen.

As if her thoughts were magic, there came hoofbeats. Diane looked up from where she had been staring at the toes of her boots to the sight of Deathstalker Belmont riding into the depot. He looked a bit feral, but then again, when any of them got into a fight, they tended to look more like the ghouls that wandered Tirisfal than civilized zombies. 

She shoved off of the metal barrel she was sitting on, running over to where a gaggle of undead and goblins were gathering around Belmont as he climbed off of his skeletal mount.

“There’s some Kaldorei resistance by Auberdine. We shouldn’t have anything to worry about but-” Just as he said that, a brilliant pillar of light appeared in the distance, a great clap of thunder following in its’ wake that shook the forest. 

Then everything fell dark all at once. There were no stars, there was no sun. Only a giant moon blocking vying fractals of light from touching Darkshore.

With wide eyes, Diane looked to Deathstalker Belmont, who wasn’t talking to anyone anymore. He dropped his horse’s reins and made a beeline for her, one arm already outstretched as he walked towards her, the other defensively on the hilt of one of his daggers.

His hand settled on her shoulder while she gripped it with both skeletal hands. There was still a good amount of flesh on his arm, considering how long ago he has been raised. 

“Trevor-” She just managed to say, before he interjected; “You need to run.”

“What? No- I won’t leave, I’m not some wilting violet for you to save, I want to fight-” “You can’t fight, Diane!” His voice was shaking. “Did you see what happened to the fucking sky?” It took him a moment to recover, and then; “I’ve fought my way out of worse.”

“You are not asking me to abandon you again.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, I’ll be fine-”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Listen-” A brackish tongue flecked out from between his lips in a fruitless bid to wet the long-dead flesh, a leftover nervous tick from life, “This isn’t the first time I’ve faced these odds. Do you really think a handful of moon-addled elves will stop me? Hah!”

“Now go.” And just like that, he was gone, as if he was never there. Diane knew he was still there, somewhere, but he was virtually undetectable to her eyes. He was undetectable to anyone. 

Diane spun on her heel and squeezed between the wall that met one of the quaint buildings the goblins had hastily thrown up when they had first taken the land where the depot now stood. A depot that she hoped she would walk back into, no matter how tacky she originally stated that it was.

She didn’t like running, she didn’t want to be called a coward. She only did it because Belmont insisted. Because he was so sure about this, that he could do it again. She considered the escape from the pack of worgen to be a miracle, but this? 

Getting away from whatever had darkened the sky would be an act of the Titans themselves. 

She told herself she would come back, because she had to believe she had something to come back to. When she came back, she would do as she had always done, heal and comfort the wounded, she would taunt whatever prisoners they had taken, she would scold soldiers who got too big for their britches. She would come back. She had to be able to come back to something.

The entire forest lit up from behind her, everything was suddenly brought into a bright clarity. Eyes that were not supposed to be there sparkled in the light, the trees bristled, all sound was sucked away for the briefest of moments. 

The entire world had been put on pause between the beats of butterfly wings, the entire forest heaving with what would inevitably roll through with crushing force. 

Then the darkness came rolling back, heralded by the thunderous wave of air that followed the beam of moonlight that had come down from the sky, sucker-punching Diane in the back. She fell to the ground, barely able to catch herself with her hands. Sharp pebbles and twigs scraped against her fragile flesh, dead leaves prickling her bare knees. 

“No..” She looked back towards the depot, she didn’t think she had gotten that far. It was still there, but that moonbeam… 

It could only have been the work of Tyrande Whisperwind. 

“Shit- Light almighty-” She pulled herself onto her knees, clutching her hands as if they were the only thing keeping her bound to the planet. She felt the inner corners of her eyes prickle with the long-dead response to cry, were she able to. No tears would fall from her eyes, but it was all she could do to stop the sobs from ripping through throat. 

She must be silent. She must not fall apart yet, she had to retain her wits. If she wasn’t silent, if she wasn’t smart- she wouldn’t live to return to the depot later. If there was anything there to return to.

Curling her hands into fists, digging into the soft earth of Darkshore, she pushed herself back to her feet with titanic effort. On shaky legs, she ran further into the forest. This made her nervous, for she felt defenseless out here in Elune’s territory, where she obstructed the Light. Her power might not have waned, but the Moon Goddess’ wrath hung thick in the air. She had to get out of these woods. If she ran long enough, she would make it to the shoreline.

She had all but forgotten about the eyes in the shadows that had sparkled in the moonlight when it came down to claim Ashwood Depot. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she found herself once again knocked to the ground, two Kaldorei standing over her.

“Another spy?”

“Not likely, look at her. Probably a straggler from a camp that thought she could get away from the High Priestess’ wrath.”

Did they really get them all? Was there nothing for her to go back to?

Her thought process is disrupted when one of them landed a hit to her face, right across her temple. Diane fell back, once again having to catch herself with her hands. Forget about her survival, just how much of her already mangled body was going to survive this situation?

“Do you speak common?” The other one spoke up.

“I do.”

“Tell us everything you know, and we will make your second death painless. It is much more than you deserve.”

Diane turned her face to look up at the two elves standing over her; “How.. kind of you.” She growled.

“Is Ashwood Depot your last major stronghold?”

“Where is Nathanos?”

“Can you tell us about the Val’kyr?”

Diane said nothing for several moments, she simply sat there. She checked her hands and where the night elf had hit her to see if she was bleeding, but it seemed like she was alright. It was nothing she couldn’t fix herself.

The other night elf decided she had taken enough time and pistol-whipped her with the pommel of his spear. Stars exploded before her eyes as pain bloomed across her temple, but she didn’t pass out. Most Forsaken couldn’t pass out.

“Answer her.” He demanded, “Now, cadaver.”

Cadaver? Is that all he could think of?

She stays silent, her face turned away from the night elves. She would tell them nothing, she had endured far, far worse. But now- 

Everything seemed unbearable.

“Speak! Now, monster!”

“Please…” She finally says, looking up at them. “Keep hitting me. I don’t want to live anymore.”

The two night elves looked at each other as if considering her words. Their people were blinded to vengeance at the moment, they would be forgiven for killing anyone who potentially had information. 

“No.” The woman says; “We can do something worse.”

There comes the striking of a match. A fistful of her hair is taken in hand, Diane lets out a shriek as she’s dragged further, the underbrush unforgivingly scraping against her bare legs.

Then she hit the ground again, it smelled like singed things. Her head was warm, her hair was on fire.

Fuck.

Diane scrambles, her body was dry, she knew she would burn quickly if she did not act. Death, she could handle. Marring her appearance, her hair, the one part of her humanity that she desperately clung to- this she couldn’t accept. 

She brings up fistfuls of sand as she struggles for purchase, she doesn’t know what she hears in the background, but assumes it’s raucous laughter as she slipped down the surf, right into the water.

For a blessed moment, it was just her, floating peacefully in the water. She closed her eyes-

Before she was yanked out of the water unceremoniously. She was being held by the collar of her dress by the male night elf, his breath hot against the back of her neck. 

“Well, you could at least tell us about the Deathstalkers you have prowling the area. Tell us their last reported positions.” The female demanded. She was so close, Diane could see the pupils in her glittering black eyes. 

She would no doubt question them about leadership, she would want whoever lead them dead. While Captain Hawkins was both nowhere to be found and not present, Commander Belmont was. She would want Belmont dead.

Belmont was dead.

Diane felt her face screw up into a big, ugly frown, before she shrieked, “They’re dead!” 

She flung her leg back, the heel of her boot making contact with the night elf holding her. He grunted, dropping her back to the ground. Before he could snatch her back up, she swung her legs around and kicked him again, nailing him right in the face. 

She moved quickly, getting away from the both of them. 

With her eyes closed, she cried; “Let there be Light!” 

Instead of a pillar of moonlight, a bright white light consumed the immediate area, blanketing everything in a radiant glow for several seconds. With any luck, her opponents would be temporarily blinded.

“You witch!” The woman shrieked, diving at where Diane had last been, had she not already moved. The woman landed face-first onto the dusty beach. 

As she stared at the two night elves, both wriggling around blindly on the surf, she thinks about Ashwood Depot. She had nothing left to go back to, did she.

The woman was getting up, she blinked as if trying to clear the blackness that was crowding her vision. “You-“ her hands curled into fists.

“Enough.” Diane muttered, and with a wave of her hand she called down a fractal of light to smite the woman, sending her straight back to the ground.

“I want to be alone.” 

With that, Diane turned and walked back into the forest.


	2. Tearing out the Sutures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you feed me lies about some idealistic future  
Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures"  
\- Nothing Better, The Postal Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember how I said this would be two parts?? well i wrote way more than that.

Her brother miraculously finds her an hour or two later, she isn’t really sure. All she really remembered was the cold of Erick’s gauntlets as they wrapped around her arm, yanking her over to him. She hadn’t even been aware if he had been speaking to her, although if he had, none of what he said would have mattered. They lost. He came to find her before he retreated.

Her brother was an idiot. A stupid, loveable, loyal idiot.

They were ferried onto a boat, but the boat was quickly evacuated when a battle-mage opened a portal to Orgrimmar so they could continue their hasty retreat.

After spending so much time traipsing through the darkened woods of Darkshore, the desert of Durotar seemed almost blinding to her, but the moment would pass. She would simply have to re-adjust to the light, which wouldn’t take her long.

Her brother would turn to speak to her and find her place next to him vacated, as she had already set out to find a beautician. Forsaken always looked like hell, she wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of them.

When she gets to the salon, she tracks muddy boot-prints across Bebri’s nice new linoleum floors, but for all of her hemming and hawing from when they first relocated her establishment to the other side of the Drag, the goblin remained silent as Diane sat down in one of the available chairs. They were all available. The entire building was empty and silent, save to the tinny little tunes that the jukebox in the corner played quietly on repeat.

Finally, Bebri’s voice piped up as she went to retrieve her stood from the other side of the salon; “So uh- what can I do for you today hon?”

Diane stared at her reflection in the mirror. She really was a gastly sight to behold at the moment; her once bountiful mane of curls had been singed to just above her shoulders, there was dirt and black gunk flecked all over her, the collar of her dress had been ripped sometime between her departure and return to the Horde. She doesn’t remember when, perhaps when that one Kaldorei picked her up… 

“I uh.. I would like to have my hair evened up. I had an accident.” Her voice sounded hollow.

Bebri’s face joined her’s in the mirror. The little goblin looked like a model compared to her, skin powdered with concealer, lips painted with lipstick. 

Diane’s wild hair looked like it was trying to swallow the other woman’s face.

“Oh hon, that’s too bad. Your hair is so gorgeous- what happened?” Bebri asked, preliminarily running her fingers through Diane’s blonde locks, testing the length of different areas.

Diane doesn’t speak, instead she looked down at her bare thighs, here her hands rested between her legs, balled up in the thin cloth that made up her skirt. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, clenching her hands around the fabric as hard as she could. She could just barely feel the bite of her fingernails through the material.

“I… there was an accident.” Was all she said, looking back up. 

“Ah-” The hairdresser doesn’t question her further, instead, she fluffs Diane’s hair once again. “Well- I’m gonna have to trim and shape this up a bit, but it’s certainly salvageable. What you’ll lose in length, you’ll more than make up for in volume, hon.” She said this soothingly, almost trying to comfort her over the loss of her hair. 

This was ridiculous. She was ready to cry over the loss of her hair.

She went mute, deftly allowing Bebri to trim her hair, tilt her head this way and that to make sure that all the ends were even, look down, or up as the little goblin asked her to. She winced as the scissored went snip, tufts of hair falling to the ground. The hair that had been there for years, a decade, and now it had to go because she went off and got herself burned, because she was stupid, and she won’t defend herself.

Once again, her eyes prickled and stung, but nothing came of it. She wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t. Forsaken couldn’t cry.

Perhaps the hair was only the surface. The hair meant something to her, but underneath that there was another, more pervasive hurt. The flash of moonfire behind her, the way that it lit up the trees. Then nothing. 

Trevor’s last words; _“Now go.”_

“Oh Light-” Her words came out as a breathy whisper, just barely audible.

Bebri pats her shoulder reassuringly. “I know hon, the first time most people get a haircut like this it’s a shock, I can only imagine how it must feel for you-”

Diane stopped listening, instead she looked back up at the mirror. 

She was recognizable, at least. Her curls were still wild, the volume making her appear like a small blonde cloud. The short length of it almost made her appear… younger. Bebri had shaped it so that the shorter ends flared out, but kept her bangs as similar to how they were before she showed up, blending them into the greater mop of her hair. 

It wasn’t so bad.

She stood, “Thank you Bebri.” She gave the goblin a plastic smile, but it was the best she could muster, “How much do I owe you?”

“You know what? I’ll give you this one on the house.” She said as she hopped off of the step-stool, taking it back over to its’ little corner.

“I-” Diane blinked, “Are you sure?”

“As a heart attack, hon.” Bebri assured her, “Now go on, I need to mop the floors.”

The priestess looked down, though she didn’t really need to, she knew where the mud came from. Her boots, from aimlessly trekking around Darkshore. There were bits of Darkshore all around them.

“Right- thank you.” Diane felt her voice crack on the ‘i’ in right, ducking out of the salon quickly. 

As she trudged down the Drag, she made up her mind. If she wanted to get any sort of closure about the situation, at least for now, even something to placate her thoughts, she would have to speak to Hawkins, wherever he was. 

As the de facto leader of the Deathstalkers, he made certain to make himself scarce, and covered his tracks well, even from his allies and fellow Deathstalkers. She knew he would congregate in the Royal Quarter with the queen every now-and-then, but the Undercity was gone.

Unless…

She would have to go home for now. Erick was most likely wandering around trying to find her, but tomorrow, she sets her sights on a new destination; Grommash Hold.

—— 

It’s not as if she needs to wait to request an audience. People came in and out of Grommash Hold all the time, it wasn’t just their leaders and government officials along with their military advisors that used the hold, it was also lower level military, goblin businesses setting up meetings in upper-level rooms, and ordinary citizens who wished to have their voices heard. And Diane was going to be heard by someone.

While there were no bars or holds on who could enter Grommash Hold, there was a bit of a line. The building was only so big, so people who had to wait would often congregate outside. Diane had no meeting scheduled, she wasn’t a part of a group who frequented the hold, so she simply joined the little group standing next to the entrance, patiently waiting their turn to enter the hold.

As she stood, she noticed the briefest of flashes, nearly a shimmer- the grass depressed in a way that the wind couldn’t replicate. A rogue.

Almost by reflect, Diane shrieks; “Spy!” Before she dove at the shimmer, just barely swiping whoever had been attempting to get away from the hold. 

It was enough to knock the rogue out of stealth, a lean man clad in dark leathers, his entire face except for a pair of sunken yellow eyes completely covered. Even with most of his expression obscured, it was clear from the crinkles between his eyes that he was furious. 

A skeletal hand ripped off the mask as everyone stared, showing off the thin, pale face of Aleric Hawkins. “Are you shitting me right now?”

Diane felt a mixture of embarrassment and rage. Embarrassed, because she just announced there was a spy in the city when there really wasn’t; enraged, because Hawkins felt the need to sneak around the blasted capital of all places, when paranoia was rampant. What was he thinking!

“I- are you shitting me!” She pointed a thin finger at him, “What the hell are you doing, sneaking around your own damned city!? You know Orgrimmar had a spy problem during the beginning of the war!”

“I don’t have to answer that!” Hawkins sneered, turning his back as his edges slowly became harder and harder to define. He was going to disappear on her! 

Diane dove for him again, feeling the eyes of the city upon her. The guards were more than used to people getting into fights within the city walls, she had nothing to fear from one of them unless their fight turned bloody. Both of them landed on the ground, Hawkins-first.

However, her initial asshattery got the job done. She had found Hawkins, albeit not the way she intended. As he attempted to get away a second time, but seeing as she still had him on his back, she sat herself on his chest and refused to budge while the Deathstalker cursed her out in common, gutterspeak and orcish. 

“I actually have another question.” She said, raising her voice over his multi-lingual insults.

Ten minutes later she was no longer sitting on him, he wasn’t trying to escape her anymore, but he wasn’t exactly answering any of her questions.

“You have to at least tell me if you’ve gotten any sort of word back- a signal, a message on your guildstone, _anything_-” 

“I haven’t, what even makes you think that I would?”

“You’re the leader of the Deathstalkers.” She said, flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Hawkins scoffed, “What makes you think the leader of an organization like The Deathstalkers would be wandering around Orgrimmar for?”

Diane sighed at him, uncrossing her arms, instead planting them on her hips; “Look Hawkins, when you first made those jokes while you were plodding around Undercity, it was cute, but then it got stupid and now it’s _annoying_. Please just- tell me if you have something. Anything.”

Hawkins’ face seemed to drop. Any expression at all just sloughed off, as if it were a mask all along. “I can give you something, but you won’t like it. I haven’t heard back from him, so he’s either dead, or captured, and if he’s been captured, you’ll wish he’s dead.”

Diane’s arms fell away from her hips, preferring to droop at her sides. She was aghast at what she was being told. “What the hell do you mean?”

Hawkins scrunched up his face, upper lip-to-nose for a moment, as if in thought, before answering; “Most of ‘em don’t know each other, the Deathstalkers. They might know names, but that’s it. No one knows each other’s assignments, no one knows whose who’s partner. No one knows anything but their assignment. Commanders, Captains and Officers, they do, they know the assignments, they know names.”

He gives her a moment, to let that sink in. Belmont was a commander. He knew names, he knew assignments. He knew about everyone under him, and if he didn’t die…

“If he didn’t die they’ll pump him for information, and if he won’t give it they’ll torture him, and then they'll kill him. Don’t look at me like that, look at what they did to you.” He pointed to the blackened ends of chunks of Diane’s hair, “You think the Alliance isn’t above a little torture?”

“Of course not.” Diane pauses, trying to gather her thoughts. Why tell her this? “Why?”

“Because.” Hawkins shrugs, “Deathstalkers disappear for long periods of time, we’re used to that. I don’t know how many times Yorick’s husband showed up in the damn Royal Quarter, talking nonsense about how Rane was still alive, she was just in deep-cover. Don’t do that to yourself Diane.”

“But-”

“You need to let it go.” Hawkins was fading again, his appearance was becoming less and less discernible from his surroundings, “He’s dead, Diane.”

_Now go_. The wind whispers in Belmont’s voice.

Diane stood in that empty corner of Orgrimmar for a little while, contemplating her situation. Trying to work out some kind of strategy. Perhaps all she was doing was constructing herself a fantasy.


End file.
